12. Cole

When I"d decidedlast minute to further "sell" the story of our sudden engagement by assisting Sunny with her little Saturday morning class, I'd thought, Sure, why not? How hard can it be?

Answer: damn fucking hard.

I ran an extreme number of miles three times a week and did a brutal strength workout every Tuesday and Thursday. On Saturdays, I did both before my weekly sparring session with Jabbari.

But "helping" Sunny teach her free dance class that morning made me question every assumption I"d carried about my current fitness level.

By halfway through the warm-up, I was drenched in sweat. The simple-looking (but torturous in practice) pliés seemed to target muscles none of my squat sessions had ever addressed. And I'd done Arnold presses with dumbbells that weighed more than the girls in Sunny's dance class. But dumbbells didn't wiggle—or giggle—when Sunny yelled at me during lifts.

"You can do better than that, Benton. Lift her higher! HIGHER!"

The pretty showgirl who'd meekly walked into my office became an NFL coach in the little dance studio, shouting and banging a wooden stick she"d produced out of nowhere against the warped floors whenever one of us failed to keep time.

Okay, when I failed to keep time. The little girls performing the deceptively simple warm-up dance around me seemed to know better than to fall out of sync.

"When you don"t know what to do, just shuffle off to the side and stand in first position until it"s time for another lift," Lucia advised, bringing a paper cup of water over to where I sat half-collapsed on the floor during the break. She whispered her helpful guidance, as if Sunny were a T-Rex who might overhear.

Before I could finish drinking the water with trembling hands, my pretend fiancée barked, "There's no sitting in dance class! Back to the barre!" with another thud of her stick.

I"d grow to hate that stick.

She ostensibly used it to help keep time while the girls went through the first part of the routine they"d be performing at their upcoming spring recital in April. But she mostly banged it against the floor whenever she felt like I was getting something wrong.

Though, to be fair, there was a lot less banging when we got to the second part of the routine and she shouted, "Benton, you"re wiped. You can sit out the rest of the class."

By then, I didn"t have enough pride or muscle strength left to protest.

I collapsed in front of the mirror where we"d kissed earlier and watched Sunny teach the class from the sidelines, feeling sorry for the comrades I"d left behind.

According to Sunny"s stick, their leaps were never high enough, and their arms were never straight enough. Even when I thought they'd performed the routine perfectly, Sunny would just bang her evil staff on the ground and yell, "Again!"

"Now I know why you volunteer," I grumbled when she finally ended the class and came over to gather her things."I can't see anyone willingly paying you to put innocent children through that kind of abuse."

Before Sunny could respond, she was mobbed by little girls running up to give her huge hugs and yell, "Thank you!"

What the hell?

"Is the Saturday Glo Dance Class code for Kids Who Loved Masochism?" I asked as we walked out of the Community Center surrounded by a river of little girls, giggling their way through dramatic recaps of their best and worst moments in class.

"I challenge them," Sunny replied, pausing to hold the door open for the girls trailing behind us. It felt like she was taunting me with her effortless display of arm strength, which she had completely drained from me."When they're done here, they leave with a feeling of accomplishment. That's something money can't buy."

"Everything can be bought," I insisted, waving goodbye to Lucia, who'd stuffed the cash I"d given her in the front of her leotard.

She waved back before running over to a pretty woman with tawny brown skin and waist-length dreadlocks. She looked a little young to be Lucia"s mother, and my guess was proven right when the little girl called out, "Carly! Carly! You"ll never believe what happened with Miss Sunny"s new boyfriend-husband!"

I narrowed my eyes, waiting to see if she"d betray our deal.

"He helped us all do lifts at the beginning of class, and Miss Sunny yelled at him for not doing a better job. Like, a lot."

"Oh, wow!" The woman—maybe a cousin or an older half sister—responded with a good-natured laugh as she looked toward where Sunny was still holding open the door.

But she visibly startled when she saw me. As if she recognized me as the CEO of Benton Worldwide, not some random guy Sunny roped into helping out with her class.

Actually, I vaguely recognized her, too. But I couldn"t quite recall from where.

Before I could place her, she grabbed Lucia by the hand and turned her back to me. "C"mon, we better walk fast if we want to get home before..."

The rest of her words faded out as she and Lucia rushed away.

"That"s Lucia"s older sister, Carly," Sunny explained, letting the door close. "And Lucia"s other sister, Amelia, is actually the one who got me my job at the Tourmaline. You may recognize Carly. She"s a classically trained pianist, and she and Amelia go around the city on a motorized piano, with Amelia dancing ballet on top. Such a talented family. I"m so glad Lucia"s continuing the family tradition."

And that"s when I remembered where I recognized Carly from.

"Everything—and everyone—can be bought," I repeated with even more confidence as we walked back to my Jag. "You just have to figure out the price."

Sunny gave me a sharp sideways look. I could tell she was wondering if I was talking about her sense of accomplishment hypothesis…or the unsigned contract still sitting on my kitchen counter.

I leaned forward and decided to make it easy for her. "That was one hell of a kiss, Sunny, and before this is all done, I'm going to figure out what it will take to get you in my bed."

With that declared, I opened the passenger door for her.

Like the gentleman I definitely wasn't.

* * *

Not going to lie.The memory of the stunned look on Sunny's face after I let her know she"d end up in my bed made up for the four pills I had to pop just to get through the day once I arrived at the office.

But it also made it hard for me to concentrate on my work. Too hard.

Later that day, I realized I"d been reading the same summary report from the efficiency firm we"d hired to review the Benton New Orleans Hotel Casino"s performance over and over again. And I still couldn't say for sure whether the report was good or bad.

Not very efficient. Not very efficient at all.

I needed to get my mind off Sunny. But memories of that kiss refused to stop looping inside my head: The way that pink leotard had covered all her lush curves without leaving anything to the imagination. The way her full lips had felt when I kissed her back like an animal. The way her body had responded underneath mine—before we were rudely interrupted.

"Will you be needing anything else before I leave for the day, Mr. Benton?"

I looked up to see my assistant, Agnes, standing in the doorway, her dark eyes looking askance behind her round glasses.

"You"re leaving early?"

Confusion replaced my erotic thoughts about Sunny.

It wasn't like Agnes to depart before six. After losing two assistants to claims of needing work-life balance, I'd made it clear to her from the outset that I required an assistant who'd be available to me from six am to six pm, not just on weekdays but also on weekends and potentially later for crucial projects.

"When I'm in the office, you're in the office. When I'm not in the office, you're on call for whatever I need," I told her. "Tell me your number to be okay with that."

Then, after I'd agreed to her six-figure proposal without blinking an eye, Agnes joked about informing her husband, Steve, a construction worker who"d been disabled on the job, that she was Cole Benton's work wife now.

And sure, lately, I"d noticed she appeared a bit worn down. I"d also gotten the feeling that my seven-day-a-week schedule was taking a toll on her marriage when I'd overheard Agnes whispering on the phone, "I know it"s our anniversary, but I can"t leave. I explained this to you when I took the extremely well-paid position that saved us after your job screwed you over. Remember?" It appeared Steve was no longer on board with how many hours I required from his IRL wife.

But I kept my work life separate from my personal one—save for last night. But that was a one-off, and... "You"re contracted to stay until six on weekends," I reminded Agnes. No matter how much your husband whines about it.

"Oh, I"m aware!" Agnes held up her hands with an apologetic wince. "But, Mr. Benton, it is six--a little after, actually."

I frowned. Looked down at my watch, which clearly displayed the time as five after six p.m.. Then cursed under my breath. How had I lost an entire work day to obsessing over that kiss?

"Is everything okay, Mr. Benton," Agnes asked, looking worried.

"No, it's fine." I rubbed a hand over my face. "I just . . . didn't get as much done as I wanted to today."

"Oh." Agnes"s face fell, then reset. "Well, I can stay if you'd like and call Sunny to let her know you won't be able to make the CEO of the Year dinner. I was planning to give her a ring before I went home anyway to make sure she was fully satisfied with the hotel room she requested."

I was about to answer, no she could go, but then the rest of Agnes's offer caught up with me.

I went still. Very still. Then asked, "What hotel room?"